


Ursa Minor, Ursus Mine

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Hydra Trash Meme 2014 ongoing - blanket dub/non consent warnings [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Childhood Ruination, Fluff, HYDRA Trash Party adjacent, Inanimate Object Porn, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sex Toys, Sexual Surrogate, Touch-Starved Bucky Barnes, discussion of permanent body modification, steve rogers' sexual identity is Double Dog Dare, touch-averse bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Bucky discovers, when Steve kisses the little Bucky Bear on its head instead of kissing Bucky, that maybe there's a way around Bucky's touch-aversion after all. If Steve's willing to defile a stuffed toy, that is.Or, the one where Steve fucks Bucky Bear.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Bucky Bear
Series: Hydra Trash Meme 2014 ongoing - blanket dub/non consent warnings [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/116107
Comments: 45
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts).



> Written for, and betaed by, ZepysGirl

There are things James Barnes wants - food, sleep, entertainment, reassurance, help making progress. He wants other things, too - love, affection, contact. There are things he does not want, but those things aren’t as easy to convey, especially not when the things he wants lead to things he does not. 

He learns quickly - he always did, of course, that’s not what’s new. He learns little things, like the idea that he can ask for what he wants, and big things, like the knowledge that he can want. He learns quickly to identify hunger, and restlessness, to understand tiredness and figure out that the ache his face makes is a smile, is laughter, that it aches less the more he does it. Slowly, he remembers the human being he is.

But some things stay.

He likes to sleep with a gun in the nightstand. He can’t eat blueberries. And he…doesn’t. Want sex?

Steve doesn’t push him, which is why it takes so long for them to figure it out. Steve waits patiently until the afternoon that Bucky can’t take it any longer and hugs him from behind. Once he’s hugged Steve from behind, it’s easier to sit right beside him on the couch, easier to hug him face to face, and that-

“Oh,” Steve says when Bucky can’t help it, when Bucky sags in his arms and feels his eyes prickle and his throat tighten and knows from the weight of Steve’s hand on the back of his head that Steve will keep him safe. “Oh Bucky.”

Bucky remembers sex. He knows arousal fairly well, but what’s new is the total wall between ‘I’m horny as fuck’ and ‘please touch me.’ After _thirteen months,_ Steve offers to rub the knots out of his shoulders, and Steve’s hands were always big even when the rest of him was small, but it feels so good, it feels _so good,_ and he _remembers_ it. Steve’s hands are broad and strong and always were, and Bucky remembers the way he had to hold himself back when he was younger, how Steve’s slight body over his own, Steve’s hands on his skin, were matches struck and fuses lit. Now, it’s different. He wants, his body wants, that’s obvious. Blood rushes to the same places, arousal flares just as brightly as it ever did. But now…

He thinks he can deal with it. Thinks he can handle it. But then it turns out that he can _not._

~

They’ll take it slow, Steve says, they’ll go easy. If Bucky never wants physical affection again, then that’s what they’ll do, or not-do. But that’s the problem, because Bucky _does_ want _something._ He wants it from Steve, too. Just not from a very tall, very broad soldier who used to give him orders. 

Sometimes it feels like Hydra took everything from him, even though he’s got so much back.

~

Steve’s good about it, Bucky never doubted he would be.

In fact, the reason this whole thing happens is _because_ Steve’s good at it.

It happens accidentally, really, because Steve has one of those dumbass little bears. A Bucky Bear, that sold by the thousands along with every trash-can-lid shield, even though no clothes he ever dressed in looked like that. The thing’s a knockoff - wonky shapes and seams that don’t stay sewn, and somebody gave it to Steve as a joke. They did so _after_ the mess in DC, thank God. If Steve’d been given one of those things as a joke before DC, Bucky would be quite happy to track that person down and see how they liked the taste of his Sig Sauer, thanks - jokes are way funnier when they’re not being played on a suicidal twenty-six-year-old coping with the loss of, oh, only his entire fucking world.

But no, someone - probably Romanov or Stark because that’s just like them - showed up with it after DC. Or, at least, it showed up on Steve’s couch after. 

“Aw Jesus,” didn’t accurately convey how much sass Steve had directed at it - he’d rolled his eyes so hard Bucky was surprised they’d stayed in his head. 

But there it was and finding it face-down on the arm of the couch with a magazine open over it made sense. It was like a game, sure - who could put it in the weirdest place, who could make it a surprise, who could startle a laugh out of the other. 

So first it was on the couch under a magazine like a mattress and a duvet. Then it sat on the coffee table with its own little empty mug of coffee. Then it was in the refrigerator - Bucky did that one and Steve did not like it one bit. 

“Is this a cryo joke?” he asked, his voice surprisingly steady for a guy who looked like he was about to either lose his shit yelling or break down crying.

“No,” Bucky told him honestly. “No, I was just trying to shit you up when you went for OJ, I’m sorry.”

It’d wound up on the cistern in the bathroom like a stalker, in the underwear drawer like a spy, sitting on the ceiling fan so it hurtled across the room when they turned it on, hiding behind a throw pillow because why not. Sometimes Steve just plopped it face-down on the back of the couch like a sleeping cat, or propped it up on a shelf somewhere, but it was once they got a new lamp in the corner - one of those fancy ones with the dimmer switch, long metal sticks with a lightbulb in a bowl on the top - that there was only one direction it could go.

Someone, namely Steve, thought it’d be funny to wrap the little knockoff around one of the poles like a stripper. 

Ha fuckin’ ha, sure, but then it was game on. 

Who could put the bear in the weirdest position, who could put the bear in the strangest place. Who could make the weirdest joke or pun or whatever - sometimes the bear would be sitting on a nightstand and sometimes he’d be sitting on the kitchen counter. Sometimes he’d be face first in the couch cushions or holding a note in the morning. 

Sometimes he’d sit on Steve’s chest of drawers with his fleshlight. 

So Steve would retaliate with his fuzzy handcuffs around its feet-paws, because they’d just slide off the arm-paws.

Little shibari bear in coloured string, little leather daddy bear in a cut up trashbag. 

It wasn’t smart or complicated, and they never left him anywhere he could be seen. It was a joke between them and a badly-made stuffed animal, until it wasn’t. 

Because Steve started to take it too far, as always. Not _really_ too far, just in that it made Bucky groan whenever he saw the bear on its back in bed, for example, next to a box of tissues, or when Steve left it over the arm of the couch again, but this time with a wooden spoon.

“What the hell,” Bucky said through laughter. “Were you spanking him?”

And Steve, eyes dark, cheeks maybe a little red, answered,

“What? He was being a naughty Bucky Bear.”

And Bucky didn’t know if he was supposed to be aroused by it but he was, because it was Steve, and he always thought Steve was hot even in dumbass situations, which he figured out that night when _he_ was on his back in bed, alone with a box of tissues. 

It happened the next time because Bucky had been down a few floors in therapy and he’d come back to find the bear on the kitchen counter all trussed up with string - new ties, because Steve liked to work on little things with his massive hands, and so he kept finding new ways to tie the poor thing up. If he ever wound up needing to restrain a bad guy, the media was going to have an absolute fit about it, that much was for sure. Two bank robbers in accurate _gyaku ebi_ apprehended by police.

But Bucky couldn’t help thinking about it, about how Steve must have put the little bear in his lap and carefully tied knots around it, carefully put each cinch where it was needed and tied every tie as precisely as possible. Steve, Bucky thought as he picked the bear up in one hand, must have cradled the thing and stared down at it with dark eyes and a smile on his face and poured all his attention into making that little bear look like the happiest little twink you ever did see.

And he started to realize that, as fun as this had been to start, it made him think about Steve a lot. Steve over him, Steve inside him - and that _sucked,_ because he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted less than for Steve to fuck him, not after everything else he’d been through, but neither could he think of a single thing he wanted more, either. 

But the thing that really kicked it all off was one evening after a bad, difficult day of therapy, when Bucky really wanted a hug, really wanted to be held and coddled, and couldn’t stand to be touched. He wanted Steve’s fingers in his hair, wanted Steve’s hands on his back, but the mere thought of it made his heart rate kick up, made his breathing come faster, made him catalog each exit and escape route.

“It’s okay,” Steve said, and picked up the little wonky bear from where it sat on the counter. Then he kissed it, just pressed his lips to its head while he stared straight at Bucky. “What a good little Bucky Bear he’s being.”

And oh no. Oho no, no. This was bad, it was really bad. Because, Bucky realized, he knew exactly what Steve meant. He knew exactly who Steve was talking to. But this, this was different. This didn’t feel like he was in the wrong skin, like those times people called him by his rank instead of his name, or still identified him by Hydra’s moniker. It didn’t make him feel like he sometimes did when people texted _HUGS_ to him, when his skin would crawl just from the suggestion.

Instead he felt a release of his own tension, felt the tightness ease from across his shoulders, felt a weight lift off his chest. 

“Steve,” he said, “can you do that again?”

And Steve frowned but nodded.

“Sure,” he said, and kissed it on the top of its wonky head again. “I hope it knows how much I love it.”

“Him,” Bucky said. “He’s a him.”

He’d been called ‘it’ enough to last a lifetime.

“Sure thing,” Steve said without blinking. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask him sooner.”

~

So the next time Bucky brings it up, it’s a quiet afternoon on a weekend. 

“You know,” he says, when they’re sitting side by side on the couch, “that thing. With the bear.”

Steve picks up the remote and turns down the volume on the TV - it was low enough anyway, because they’re both enhanced, and neither of them were really watching - and Steve doesn’t look at him, because Steve knows how to deal with him these days. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Bucky takes a long, slow breath himself. 

“I think maybe….the…bear would like to watch you jerking off.”

Steve’s head turns fairly quickly. Bucky can see it out of the corner of his eye because he’s studiously not looking at Steve. 

“Would the bear like to watch me right this second, or just the next time I’m thinking about jerking off?” Steve asks. “Although, fair warning to him, I am now thinking about jerking off.”

Bucky laughs a little because it’s unbidden and he gets that kind of laughter now sometimes. 

“I think maybe the bear would like to wait a little while, but certainly this weekend.”

“Well,” Steve answers. “Then I’ll let the bear know whenever I feel like it, and he can choose.”

And he does. Bucky walks into the kitchen on Sunday morning and Steve has the bear fairly close to him on the kitchen counter. 

“Would bears like scrambled eggs this morning?” he asks, and Bucky goes over to him and passes his hands around Steve’s waist for a hug from behind, because it’s easier when he hugs people from a direction that makes it difficult to hug him back. 

“Bears would like eggs and bacon, if Steves don’t mind.”

Steve picks up the bear.

“Fussypantses,” he says to him, and Bucky snorts.

After breakfast, Steve washes the dishes and the pans, and picks up the bear, and puts the bear down on the table in front of Bucky.

“Think he wants to watch?” he asks, and Bucky nods. 

“I think he does,” he says. 

“Then you can keep an eye on him,” Steve answers. 

And the thing is, Steve does it right there, because they live here and this is the twenty-first century, and the kitchen has paper towels for when he’s done. Steve shoves his sweats down to his knees and jerks off while he looks at the bear. 

He flicks glances at Bucky, of course he does, but that’s fine, it seems. When he says things like,

“Oh, Buck,” on the in-breath, and makes such lovely little noises on the out, Bucky finds that Steve might be speaking directly to the bear but it’s speaking straight to Bucky’s hindbrain. 

Maybe his heart too but what does he look like, a sap? 

When Steve’s done, he cleans up (didn’t even get any on the tile - Bucky tries not to be too house-proud but that’s difficult when you haven’t been allowed possessions for seven decades and then someone springs a fully furnished apartment on you) and then, once Steve’s cleaned up and washed his hands, he picks up the bear and kisses it on the head while he looks at Bucky. 

“Like to watch, don’t you?” he says.

But he’s saying it to the bear, so that’s just fine. 

And so it goes on like that. The bear sometimes picks movies when Bucky finds it difficult, the bear sometimes asks for bacon with his eggs, and sometimes the bear likes to watch Steve jerk off. Which brings about a problem - namely that Steve’s starting to find the bear very attractive. Sometimes, if Bucky leaves the bear in sexy positions, Steve gets almost instantly aroused.

“Would the bear like to watch?” becomes a regular saying in their household, and the answer is almost always yes.

They both know they’re doing it but they’re also both not addressing it, that is until Bucky addresses it. Because Steve kisses the wonky bear on its head and Steve jerks off while looking at the bear and Steve tells the bear “I love you very much” on days when Bucky is having a hard time of everything, but Bucky has needs. 

Steve’s flat on his back one afternoon, in golden late-sun, jerking off nice and slow. 

“Bear wishes you could fuck him,” Bucky says without thinking, because Bucky wishes to high heaven he could have Steve inside of him again. 

He remembers how it used to be when they were younger, before the war. He remembers how good it felt, how full he was, how nothing else Steve did to him felt quite like it, just like nothing felt quite like a blowjob, just like nothing felt quite like a kiss. ‘Bear’ certainly misses Steve’s dick and Steve, mid stroke, nods tightly.

He won’t be long, he’s winding up already, and Bucky’s got the bear in his lap, Bucky has been hard since Steve started (Bucky can hardly wait to go jerk off when Steve is done), Bucky wishes Steve could fuck him.

And Steve, because Steve is an _idiot,_ a _maniac,_ says,

“If the bear would like it,” like it doesn’t mean a thing.

“I _mean_ the bear,” Bucky says as a qualifier, because he doesn’t want to give Steve the wrong idea and get disappointed, but Steve just nods.

“Yep,” and then his face goes slack and his shoulders go back into the pillow, and he holds his mouth open for a long time before he actually makes a little _“ohn,”_ noise and comes in stripes up his abs. 

He lies there gasping for a little bit, coming down slowly, and Bucky’s still hard in his pants, Bucky is desperate to leave and see to his own dick, which is throbbing in time with his heart and trying to get up despite being confined by a couple of badly-placed pant-seams, but Steve turns a look on him. How Steve can look so thoroughly lascivious even though he’s just finished, Bucky will never know, but he does.

“If you really mean the bear,” he says, “I really mean yes. If you think that would work.”

And that’s the first time he’s acknowledged that he knows what Bucky’s doing, that’s the first time he’s indicated that he knows what they’re doing, even if it’s actually blatantly obvious, and even more obvious that he knew all along. 

“Seriously?” Bucky asks, because what the hell does Steve mean?

“Yeah,” he says. “I can pick a seam if you really want me to. Make a pocket.”

Bucky slaps his hands over his face to hide it, to hide from _this._

“Oh God,” he chuckles.

“Think about it,” Steve says. “Bucky Bear would, uh...He’d need to have some permanent modifications, you know?” because right, Bucky Bear's gonna need to be...enhanced...if Steve is...fucking it. “You gonna be okay with that?” 

Bucky doesn’t nod, doesn’t shake his head.

“You think you could give me a little bit to think about it?” he asks, and, when he dares to look, Steve’s just watching him carefully, all splayed out and beautiful.

“Sure,” he says, like he did the first time Bucky asked if he’d kiss the bear, like this is nothing more than a simple kiss on a stuffed animal. “Whenever the bear’s ready.”

~

Whenever the bear’s ready turns out to be later the same week. It takes Bucky a little time to get his head around it, but he works his way up to asking fairly quickly, all things considered, and then he just has to trust Steve. 

“Okay,” Steve says, and Bucky’s having a good day so he gets a kiss on his cheek.

Bucky’s having such a good day, actually, that he turns his head at the last second, so his kiss on the cheek becomes a kiss on the lips. Steve doesn’t take advantage, and gets up a moment later - Bucky hasn’t seen the bear in a day or two and isn’t sure what that means. 

At least, he’s not sure what that means until Steve’s voice calls out to him, and then he goes to Steve’s room and finds Bucky Bear in there with Steve. 

The bear is on his back, on a pile of pillows on the bed, because Steve asked Bucky what position bears like and Bucky told him that bears like any position that doesn’t crush their faces into a metal table or restrain them from getting away. His little badly-sewn outfit is folded on the chair by the closet, his little domino mask set on top, alongside what looks like a small cushion made of blue fabric that’s printed with little Captain America shields all over. And Bucky Bear himself is clearly stuffed full of fleshlight, the silicone orifice huge and pink between his short, brown legs.

Bucky’s face might as well go up in flames for how suddenly he blushes. Steve’s standing naked and hard right there, but it’s the bear with a realistic silicone asshole that makes Bucky blush, what the hell has his life come to?

“Think he’s comfortable?” Steve asks, and Bucky just looks at it - can’t look away from it, actually. 

“I think he probably is,” Bucky says, and then has to clear his throat. “Clearly he could get away if he didn’t want it.”

Steve nods.

“Yep,” he says. “All he’s gotta do is tell me, though, and I’ll stop.”

“Cool,” Bucky says. “That’s great, great.”

There’s silence between them that stretches while Bucky tries not to anticipate what’s about to happen, and Steve doesn’t say anything. After a time that is both too long and not long enough, Steve’s stance shifts just a little, and Bucky looks at him.

“Think he’d like me to start?” he asks, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah, you prepped already, right?” because…because Bucky wants to make sure the bear will be okay.

“Oh yeah,” Steve says. “Spent a real nice while at it,” and then he reaches out and places his hand on the bear’s chest, draws it down over the bear’s stomach, and a wave of sympathetic heat sweeps downward over Bucky’s abdomen.

“I think this is gonna work,” he says. “How dumb is that?”

Steve laughs softly and shakes his head.

“That’s the point,” he says, “so what does he think?”

Bucky wets his lips - Steve’s standing right there, gorgeous and aroused and hanging on Bucky’s every word.

“I think he’s probably just about as ready as he’ll ever be,” Bucky says, and Steve nods. 

“Just gonna remind him he can stop any time,” Steve says softly, without looking at Bucky, and then…

Okay so he’s seen Steve jerk off. He’s seen Steve do more than that, actually, he’s seen Steve finger himself, seen Steve fuck himself on a toy, seen Steve vibrate himself to a stellar orgasm with a little thing they were both surprised could be so powerful. He’s even, once or twice, seen Steve use his fleshlight. But never, not in all the time he’s been back or all the times they had before, has he seen Steve cradle a stuffed bear’s head in his hand and do his level best to make love to the fleshlight shoved up inside of it. 

It’s atrocious. It really is, but it’s also amazing. 

Bucky can hear the sound of Steve fucking into the fleshlight. He can hear the squelch of the lube and the drag of silicone over skin, the soft sound of Steve breathing and the sound of cloth on cloth. 

But Steve’s naked and doing his best to make love to a pile of fabric and stuffing because that’s what Bucky said he wanted. He’s making prolonged _eye contact_ for the love of goodness.

What’s more, he’s not holding the bear down on the pile of pillows. He’s supporting the bear, sure, but his other hand is planted down on the mattress and it’s a weird juxtaposition of a care Bucky doesn’t often see with inanimate objects, and the type of activity inanimate objects don’t usually experience from Steve.

It’s weird.

What’s weirder is, it’s absolutely working. Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and watches Steve crunch his whole upper body up so he can look down at the bear properly, like he’s making eye-contact with it, and he rolls his hips slowly and languidly, like he’s trying to provide some pleasure in return. Bucky remembers that, of course, he remembers how slow Steve could go on the rare occasions he was well enough to get it up, how it seemed like he was made for Bucky’s pleasure. He can see that young man in Steve now, in the color of his skin and the roll of his hips but, mostly, in the care he’s taking to go slow.

“How’s the bear doing?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods, mouth agape for a couple of moments.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m pretty sure he likes that.”

“What do I call him?” Steve asks, and Bucky blinks a couple of times, tries to wrap his brain around it. 

“He’s got a name, don’t he?” he answers, and Steve just shakes his head.

“How ‘bout it, sweetheart?” he says, quite clearly to the bear, and Bucky has a moment of cognitive dissonance that comes on so suddenly he laughs.

Steve flashes a grin at him and Bucky finds…Bucky finds that it’s alright. It’s great, in fact, he’s fine. He’s turned on, sure, his other half is naked as the day he was born and squelching in and out of a fleshlight buried in a toy bear, but that’s the thing about Steve, he never does things by halves.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Steve breathes, his head going back for a moment, and Bucky tilts his head and looks at him, wets his lips as Steve straightens up. 

Steve stops with the long slow movements for a second and just moves his hips a little, short little thrusts presumably because he’s not getting there fast enough, 

“How about you, are _you_ okay?” Bucky asks.

Steve says,

“Haah, ahhh,” softly and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Bear’s wondering how fast you’re gonna be,” Bucky says, a little out of breath himself. 

Bucky’s got no desire to touch himself, not at all. Not with Steve in the room. But if he can’t have that, he can have this, right?

“Bear ought’a be less fuckin’ beautiful’n he is,” Steve answers, “I,” and then he shakes his head and looks down at the stuffed toy whose head he cradles in one palm. “I fuckin’ missd you, y’know,” he says on a breath. “God I missed you more’n anything,” and it’s all on breaths, it’s all panted out as Steve fucks into the toy inside a toy. “I love you so much.”

“Pretty sure,” Bucky says, and then has to swallow the lump in his throat. “Pretty sure he loves you too.”

When Steve comes, not much later, his grip on the bear changes - it has to because his hips thrust faster. Bucky thinks for a second this little fantasy’s going to come crashing down around him, because Steve goes from cradling the bear’s head to gripping the back of the bear’s neck to keep it still. But then, just as a wave of cold unease passes over him, Steve says,

“Y’okay, Bear?” brokenly. “Y’okay, you still alright? I don’t wanna hurt…”

And Bucky nods. 

“Yeah,” he rasps a moment later, because Steve isn’t looking at him. 

Bear could get away if he wanted to - it’s a grip to make sure he doesn’t slip, not to make sure he can’t leave. Steve’s looking into Bear’s eyes, not laughing at him. Steve’s paying attention to Bear, not ignoring him.

“Oh,” Steve says as he tenses up. “Oh _fuck_ I’m, Buck-” and then he curls forward with a sharp jab of his hips, teeth bared in what looks like a grimace, eyes squeezed shut. And then “uh, -y Bear,” unsteadily as his spine undulates, and Bucky fucking loses it.

He laughs so hard that Steve, mid-orgasm, laughs too, which is even funnier given it means he suddenly sounds like he’s picked up something that was hotter than he thought it was - a lot of “Oh, ha, aha,” noises that have Bucky snorting through his nose.

It’s a cycle, they spur each other on until, eventually, they wind down together, Steve standing by the bed with his cock wet, one hand on the bear, the other on his hip, Bucky standing right where he is.

Steve looks him over, then turns his head and looks at the bear.

“How was it for you?” he says, and Bucky chuckles through a groan.

“God,” he says. “I gotta go.”

And Steve looks at him so sharply, his expression open and shocked - nigh on terrified.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky tells him, and Steve’s brow furrows. “I gotta take care of something.”

And then Steve’s expression clears. Credit to him, he doesn’t look down, he just looks straight at Bucky’s face. And then a slow, cautious smile tugs at the corners of his lips, until he turns his head away again, almost bashfully.

“Go on,” he says. “We’ll get cleaned up, sing out if you need anything.”

And Bucky nods, takes one last glance at the bear - all its plush paws in the air, a huge, pink, human-sized silicone asshole poking out of the bottom of it, and leaves.

He comes three minutes later, lying flat on his back at the end of his bed, one hand tight around his cock, fingers of the other rubbing circles over his hole - he can’t take fingers. He can’t take anything, but what he can do he does, and it feels so good, the memory of Steve’s body playing behind his closed eyelids, the echo of Steve’s “I love you,” on a loop in his head.

~

“What’d you do with his insides?” Bucky murmurs that evening, when they’re curled up on the couch, and Steve produces Bucky Bear out of nowhere - he must have had him beside them on the couch, maybe down the side - to reveal that he’s back in his onesie. 

Bucky frowns, lifts his head from Steve’s chest, and takes him from where Steve’s holding him out. 

He looks fine. Bucky palms the bear’s little backside and feels a rough seam of some sort under the fabric but no hollowness. And no bulge of fleshlight.

“Go ahead,” Steve says, and then shuts his eyes. “I won’t look while he’s indecent.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment, but then turns the bear around and un-velcros the back of the onesie, tugs it down to undress it. 

There is a zipper down the center of Bucky Bear’s butt, that starts under his little stub tail and goes right between his legs and up the front, presumably to about the same level. The zipper is just about the same color as his fur and, when Bucky unzips it, inside is the little cushion of shield fabric.

“What?” Bucky says softly. 

“Aw, come on, Buck,” Steve murmurs, hand opening on his lap though he doesn’t open his eyes. “He’s more’n just a quick fuck, no? Got more to him than that.”

And Bucky stares at the inside of the bear. Steve’s sewn him different on the inside - Bucky can see it. There’s the little cushion of stuffing that Bucky could take out, but the hollow inside has been lined properly. If Bucky took out the little cushion of stuffing, it’d leave the bear open, like a glove puppet when Bear wants Steve, but it means that he’s got a body all to himself when he doesn’t. It means he’s not just a hole to fuck. 

Bucky zips him back up and gets him back into his onesie and velcros it back again, and then turns the bear over in his hands. 

“You know, I love you a lot,” he says.

“That for me or him?” Steve says, and Bucky puts his hand in Steve’s open palm.

“From both of us to you,” he answers. “He’s decent.”

Steve opens his eyes again. 

“Good,” he says softly.


	2. Epilogue

“Oh fuck,” Steve mutters, one hand back on the carpet to prop him up, the other holding the bear around the waist. 

He’s being really good about it actually - he doesn’t fuck up into bear, he just lowers him over and over onto his dick, chest heaving.

“God, you’re so good,” he mutters, and Bucky just watches them.

When Steve comes, his shoulders hunch inward and his face screws up, and then, when he’s done, he flops back onto the carpet, gasping. He lifts his head to look at Bucky and catches sight of Bear still sitting on his dick, and laughs. Bucky watches him reach out and lift Bear a couple more times before he winces.

“Stop, stop,” he gasps, laughing, and he’s right, Bucky always did like to tease him most when he was sensitive.

Bucky comes on his knees on his en suite tiles five minutes later, fingers rubbing over furled flesh as he fucks his other fist.

~

“Mmh, that’s so fuckin’ good, babe,” Steve says, and hitches his knees up higher toward his chest. 

He’s got both hands down between them, on Bear’s ass, and he kind of needs to have them there to hold the strap-on harness steady - Steve modified a chihuahua harness to hold the dildo on Bear’s hips, and the dick is as long as Bear is tall. If Steve sits Bear on the nightstand, the dick overbalances Bear’s little body - but that doesn’t matter. Bucky just nods as Steve takes it over and over, sweat pouring off him, Bear’s body bumping up against him with every thrust.

“Oh god, right there,” and Bucky bites his lip and smiles, adjusts how he’s standing so there’s less pressure on his own poor dick from the fly of his jeans.

When Steve comes, he groans and fucks Bear into himself faster. Bucky can see Bear must be nailing Steve’s prostate just how Bucky used to do it with his own body, before Bucky was using Bear’s body.

“You’re so _fuckin’ good,”_ Steve whines, and Bear pulls out a second or two later. 

Steve lifts him up and puts him on his back on the bed, right next to him. His massive silicone dick points up at the ceiling.

“Gimme a minute and we’ll get to that, too, huh?” Steve says to Bear, stroking the silicone dick once, and Bucky nods, leaves the room. 

He stands at the foot of his bed and grips himself tightly and comes fast into a condom while he squeezes his fingers into as tight a fist as he can manage. Steve always was tight.

~

There’s a lot that they could overthink. Sex shouldn’t be one of those things. 

“You know,” Bucky says quietly one afternoon, when he comes back in, “I love you a lot.”

Steve snorts, breathing so hard that the bed creaks with it as he sits up.

“Yeah, you better!” he says, but then smiles a blinding smile despite the way his cheeks glow with a flush. 

Bucky shakes his head. 

“You know how fast anybody else’d’ve run?”

“Doesn’t matter ‘bout anybody else,” Steve tells him. “Only thing matters is you. Is Bear feeling better?”

“Bear sure is,” Bucky says, and he’s washed his hands, he’s changed his clothes. 

He feels okay about coming in for a kiss.

~

Mostly it’s fine. Except that Steve doesn’t look at Build-A-Bear any more when they walk past. Bucky doesn’t call him on it, it wouldn’t be kind. It wouldn’t be fair either, given that it’s down to Bucky that Steve gets a semi if he sees a certain color of fur, a certain shape of stuffed toy. 

“Do bears need hugs?” Steve says sometimes. 

“Any bears feel like maybe giving a guy a helping hand?” and sometimes a certain bear does and sometimes a certain bear doesn’t, but Steve doesn’t mind either way and Bucky doesn’t have to touch or be touched.

“Bears might be getting hungry right about now, right?”

“Do bears want to turn in for the night?”

Still, as kind and generous as Steve is about it, and as insanely lucky as Bucky is, he can’t stop himself laughing a week later when Natasha asks Sam something and he responds, “Does a bear shit in the woods?” 

Steve nearly chokes on his danish, but he laughs too.

“Why not?” he asks eventually. “It’s a free country,” and then he catches Bucky’s eye. “And he’s a free bear.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in getting me to write something for you, head on over to [my tumblr!](https://justanotherstonyfan.tumblr.com)


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